


Five times Dean sang and one time he didn't

by Zeryx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Dean Winchester, Dean-Centric, Dom/sub Undertones, Fluff and Humor, Frottage, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Season/Series 10 Finale, Sassy Castiel, Shameless Smut, Sub Dean Winchester, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Troll Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4745471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeryx/pseuds/Zeryx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i></i><br/>"You're doing <i>I Can't Dance</i> for karaoke? It's like you <i>want</i> me to make fun of you!"</p><p> "Shut it, Sammy. Gotta' own it, you know?" Dean throws over his shoulder, "Besides, this song's sarcastic, you dweeb." He tosses his wadded up napkin at Sam and saunters off to the area of the floor cleared for use as a stage.<br/>He picks up the mic, huge grin on his face and does OK, hamming it up a little, "She's got a body, under that shirt, but all she wants to do is rub my face in the dirt!" He winks at Cas, and goes into the chorus. "'Cause I can't dance, I can't talk. Only thing about me is the way I walk..."</p><p> Castiel winces, slowly chewing through hot wing no.6. "I am unsure which of these experiences is worse."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five times Dean sang and one time he didn't

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm late getting this out, but I was tied up in Vancon last week and didn't have the time to write. Thanks as always to my beta reader [Hit_the_books](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books). I snuck a couple of her song suggestions in there, one in particular really helped me while I was stuck!

 The fall sky is grey and dreary, blotting out the hopeful blue it'd been mere hours before. Dean is driving his Baby down a black ribbon of highway, rainbows of smeared oil mottling the road in the light drizzle. The windshield wipers rasp across the greasy glass in the not-quite-enough rainfall. The monotony is enough to make him drowsy, but he resists the pull of sleep without effort. Fury has him in a stranglehold, cutting off his air and tensing every muscle in his body. The Impala drives in a nimbus of mist, mirroring the steam practically coming out of his ears.

 He'd killed. Again. Not because of the mark, but out of sheer carelessness. _If only I'd done a better job convincing that guy to find cover_. He hasn't thought about it in years, but it's Ronnie all over again. _Fuck. why am I beating myself up? Survival of the fittest, right? Not my fault that guy was too dumb —_ He squeezes his eyes shut for an instant and thinks of nothing at all. He knows when it's the mark talking. It's just getting better and better at sounding like his own thoughts all the time.

 Dean needs a distraction. Badly. The worn out hiss and scratch of Metallica's Ride the Lightning album comes through the speakers when he turns on the stereo. He twists the dial so hard and fast to the right he's nearly amazed it doesn't snap off. He snarls along, drumming madly on the wheel of the Impala:  
"Emptiness is filling me, to the point of agony...Growing darkness taking dawn... I was me, but now he's gone..." He punches the air a couple of times, drumming along and humming the guitar solo.  
"No one but me can save myself, but it's too late...Now I can't think, think why I should even try...Yesterday seems as though it never existed! Death greets me warm—" Realizing what he's singing, Dean scowls and jabs the power button viciously. He resumes glaring through a windshield that looks smeared in Vaseline.  


 

***

 

 Dean's in a rarely seen pair of shorts and an old Ledd Zeppelin t-shirt that's closer to a rag as he washes the Impala in the bunker's garage. Night Ranger is blaring out from the stereo; he's in the back seat with a vacuum cleaner, screaming "Motorin'! What's your price for flight! You've got him in your sight... and driving through the night!" as he vacuums on all fours.

 "Motorin!" He climbs out and readies the wax. Swishes his hips to the beat in counterpoint to buffing the car. He turns around to grab more wax and bumps into a solid wall of angel. He makes an undignified sound and drops the cloth, cheeks flaming.

 "What the hell, Cas!"

 Cas shrugs and opens his mouth to speak, then closes it. His eyes scan up and down Dean, taking in his get-up and his nipples that are stiff from the cold.

 "No, I'm not raising funds for a high school dance. Shut up." Dean steps around the Impala, blocking his chest from view. Cas smiles with the right side of his mouth and waits patiently. Dean sighs, picks the cloth back up and resumes waxing. "What can I do you for?"

 "I believe payment for my carnal services far surpasses your income, Dean."

 Dean scowls at Cas over the roof of the Impala. "Hardy-freaking-har. Don't even remind me of that mess with Shaylene or whatever awhile back. Dude, what is it already?"

 Cas's eyes cloud over and his mouth pulls into a thin line. He licks his lips, looks down, then looks at Dean again, gravely serious. "Dean, I wish to know what to do if I'm on a supply run and there is no pie available for purchase."

  Dean huffs a laugh while buffing in slow circles, eyes flicking from between the Impala's roof to Cas's face. "Well, I'll be damned. You're really knitting a tea cozy over this, huh?" He pauses and studies Cas's expression, silently urging the angel to continue.

 "The last time there was no pie, I got... side-tracked. The angels..." Cas bites his lip and looks down again. "I got talked into a spell that made the angels fall from heaven. **I do not wish to forget the pie, Dean**!" Cas slams his hand on the roof of the Impala, eyes blazing and Dean winces.

 "Alright, alright already. Don't take it out my Baby, sheesh. I hear ya'." Dean licks his lips and looks Cas in the eye. "Now Cas, this is real important, m'kay? Not fucking around here. _Forget the damn pie_. OK?"

 Cas's eyes go huge and liquid. Dean clears his throat and looks away. "Don't get me any damn cake, either," he mutters. He ignores Cas and buffs the wax off. A couple moments later he's humming along and the angel is gone. He resumes singing, "And you know that you're the only one; to say, okay. But you're motorin'...yeah, motorin'."  


 

***

 

 Dean's tapping along on the steering wheel of his Baby while Sam is studying a map next to him, pen held in his mouth.  
"So, wait, hotel California is a place? Like an honest-to-goodness, if I'm lyin' I'm dyin', thing that exists?"

 "Yeah." Sam smooths a hand through his hair.

 "And it's the nest of a damn succubus?"

 Sam grimaces, takes the pen from between his lips and clicks it down in a threatening manner.

 "Such a lovely place. Such a lovely face—"

 " **Dean. _Don't_**." He brandishes the pen, holding it near his brother's neck.

 "What a nice surprise, bring your alibiiiiis!" Dean warbles, grinning over at Sam. Sam drops the pen and plugs his ears with his fingers; Dean's grin becomes truly shit-eating.

 "C'moooon, Sammy! You know the words!"

 Sam shakes his head like a five-year-old, bangs flying, sullen pout in place.

 "Anytime of year, you can find it heeeeere!"

 Sam groans, "How is this my life?" But Dean looks well, kinda' happy.

 "You love it. Don't freaking lie." Dean shoots him a wink.

 "Fine." Sam sings along with Dean, a small smile on his face as dusty miles of I-5 spool behind them, the clear summer sky an endless blue canopy overhead.  


 

***

 

 The tavern is worn in and faded like a comfy old pair of jeans —old bricks, pitted concrete floor, wooden tables with nickels and quarters stuck in the planks and kitschy grafitti scrawled and scratched into the nicked wood. There are hipsters everywhere, but it's not enough to dim Dean's excitement; he has dragged Cas out with them to drink and purely by chance, it's karaoke night.  
" **Yes**! Best of all possible worlds! Gimme s'more of them hot wings, Sammy." He's nearly bouncing up and down in his chair, vibrating with excitement.

 Castiel looks over, bemused, as he grabs a fistful of french fries. "I must admit, it's rare to see you so excited, Dean."

 "Yeah, well," Dean speaks around a mouthful of chicken and hot sauce,"this almost never happens."

 Sam snorts. "Karaoke happens all the time, dude."

 "Yeah, sure. But not on a Sunday. Not when we don't have a case to work. Not at a place with cheap wings, beer, and waitresses under thirty!"

 "OK, _maybe_ you have a point." Sam casts an amused look at the sheer number of beards and glasses he sees as he glances around, then makes a game of spotting which guy is sporting the most _indecently tight_ pair of skinny jeans.

 Cas munches around an over-stuffed mouthful of fries and gives a thumbs-up in solidarity. He actually doesn't look too out of place with his messy hair and trenchcoat, if you ignore that he looks old enough to have fathered most of these kids.

 Dean takes a hearty slug of PBR and scans the room blankly, trying to ignore all the male asses on display before whipping his head over to Cas. "Say...." A slow grin breaks over Dean's face, "have you ever had hot wings before, Cas?"

 Castiel frowns. "I've not had occasion, no."

 Dean pushes the ravaged basket of deep-fried chicken parts over. "You gotta' try this. Careful, it's spicy."

 Castiel picks up a wing, sniffs it gingerly, and his eyes water just a little.

 _Oh, dis gun' be gewd!_ Dean barely contains his glee.

 Sam looks on like a rubber-necker at a train wreck. "Cas—"

 It's too late, the angel's taken a bite. He tries to chew it through tearful eyes. Immediately, he goes for his beer and polishes off the whole sleeve of pilsner. Gasping, he pants, "People find that... pleasurable?"

 "A-yep." Dean bites the tip off of a wing, then holds on while putting it in his mouth. He pulls out the two bones, cleaned of flesh, and grins. "Little pain makes the pleasure all the better." He smacks his lips and licks them with a leer.

 Sam rolls his eyes. "Gross."

"Shaddap. You love it," Dean smirks, mouth smeared with hot sauce.

 Their waitress, a pretty girl with a Bettie Page haircut and heavy eyeliner, comes over with a fresh pitcher of beer, refills their glasses, and takes their old pitcher with a nod and a small smile. They murmur thanks and eat in silence for a moment before Dean looks over at Cas again, eyes glinting with mirth.  
"Hey Cas, keep eating, it gets better."

 Cas shrugs, lips gone bloodless with the vinegary hot sauce and manages another wing, red-faced. "H-how many until it gets better?" Cas mumbles after chasing another wing with another sleeve of beer.

 Dean grins over at his friend while Sam looks on in mild horror. "Oh, I dunno — ten? Twenty?"

 Just then, the DJ announces Dean's turn at the mic. "Dean, come on up for 'I can't dance.'" Dean quickly wipes his mouth and hands clean. Sam rips his gaze from Cas's red face and purpling lips, to shoot a look of disbelief at Dean as he shoves his chair back and stands.  
"Seriously, Dean? It's like you _want_ me to make fun of you."

 "Shut it, Sammy. Gotta' own it, you know?" Dean throws over his shoulder, "Besides, this song's sarcastic, you dweeb." He tosses his wadded up napkin at Sam (who bats it away before impact) and saunters off to the area of the floor cleared for use as a stage.  
He picks the mic up, huge grin on his face and does OK, hamming it up a little, "She's got a body, under that shirt, but all she wants to do is rub my face in the dirt!" He winks at Cas, and goes into the chorus. "'Cause I can't dance, I can't talk. Only thing about me is the way I walk..."

 Castiel winces, slowly chewing through hot wing no.6. "I am unsure which of these experiences is worse."

 Dean belts out the rest of the chorus, and Sam pats Cas on the arm with a sympathetic smile. A sly fox-like smile tugs up one corner of his mouth. "You could always join him. Misery loves company, they say."

 Cas squints at him. "I do not trust this "they," but I trust you, Sam." He wipes his fingers on a napkin and marches to the stage with hot sauce smeared on his face.

 Sam grins, "My brave little soldier."

 Dean sings, "A perfect body with a perfect face - uh-huh." as Cas gets to the stage and the shock on his face is priceless.

 The DJ hands Cas a second microphone and he joins his friend. Dean's grin is nearly blinding; he howls along to the chorus with an arm slung around Cas's shoulder. They sway together as Cas's gravelly alto joins in with Dean's, and he's shyly smiling, eyes lit up.

 The song ends, Dean thumps Cas repeatedly on the back and holds out his hand for a low-five, "Slap me some skin!" Cas catches on quickly, not leaving Dean hanging. "Yeah!" They return to the table, all grins.

 Sam smiles, "That's on my phone now. Nice job, Cas."

 "You were right, Sam. spreading the misery definitely made it more pleasurable." Cas smirks just a little, head ducked, and pops a few fries into his mouth.

 "Hey!" Dean steals a handful of fries and shoves them in his mouth, chewing furiously, "Screw you, I'm awesome."

 "Sure, Dean." Sam rolls his eyes and Cas snatches his fries out of Dean's reach. Cas puts a single fry between his lips and wiggles it up and down, an eyebrow arched. Dean shakes his head and laughs.  


 

***

 

 Dean is **not happy**. He's in his fed threads, strike one; in an elevator, strike two; and freaking UB-40's "Red Red Wine" is playing, strike three. He really should've known better, there are many reasons to avoid elevators, and terrible music is one of them. Just, the office of the shape-shifter working here is up on the 20th floor. If he somehow managed to catch the freak flat-footed, he'd probably be too out of breath to even draw a bead fast enough to do anything.

 Castiel is beside him humming along softly, and this is one time Dean is unhappy his friend has picked up one of his habits. "Cas. Hey Cas." Dean snaps his fingers in front of the angel's face.

 "What is it, Dean?" Cas looks at him, and as usual the sheer undivided focus of his gaze is nearly overwhelming.

 Dean tugs at his collar, looks away. "Dude, this song is annoying enough on its own. Please, don't hum along, man." Castiel is silent for so long that when Dean glances up, they're passing the 16th floor. He looks over again.

 Cas looks him straight in the eye and licks his lips slowly, deliberately. His gaze drops to Dean's mouth and then flits back up to his eyes. Studiedly casual, he murmurs, "Perhaps you could find a better way to occupy my mouth, if you really wished."

 Dean swallows, mouth gone dry, and then the elevator doors are opening onto the 20th floor. He forces a grin, "Oh, maybe just a whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you, Cas? You just put your lips together and... _blow_ ," he drops a wink and strides past the angel out into the flickering neon light of the hallway.  


  
***

 

 Dean, Cas and Sam are at the kind of old greasy spoon most of the locals in town hit for Sunday brunch, just finishing lunch. Dean's tucking into cherry pie; Cas gets up and puts a song on the jukebox while Sam hits the men's room.

 As Cas slides back into the booth beside Dean, his friend pushes his plate of pie over. "This is pretty good, Cas, you gotta' try some."

 Cas's eyes light up, and his hand brushes over Dean's as he takes the fork and cuts off a piece. Dean's head whips over to the juke as familiar strains of slide-played blues guitar starts and a delighted smile spreads slowly across his face. "Travelin' Riverside Blues? Freakin' awesome. When'd you get such good taste in music, Cas?"

 Cas pauses, fork part way to his mouth and smiles softly up at Dean. "Slowly, as time went by... it just built." His pale pink lips close around his flaky cherry morsel and he gives a quiet pleased moan.

 Dean flushes, high points of color making his freckles stand out and the tips of his ears turn red. He looks away, drumming his hand on his thigh. His lips form the words under his breath until he's singing, "Had no lovin', since my baby been gone. See my baby, tell hurry on home. I ain't had, Lord, my right mind, since my rider's been gone..."

 Castiel slides close to him, closing the gap between them. Dean looks over, startled to silence, as Cas's hand cups the side of his face. He blinks as Cas narrows the distance between them further, until the angel's mouth is on his. His mouth falls open a little and he stills. The press of Cas's lips on his becomes more insistent, and then there's a familiar sweet flavor as a smooth, juicy cherry is pressed into his mouth alongside his friend's tongue. His eyes flutter all the way shut, and his dick perks way the fuck up. There's a soft brush of lips as Cas sits back, and Dean chews the piece of cherry automatically.

 "You were right, Dean. It is very good. Too good not to share."

 Dean swallows, face burning, and just then Sam comes back. He snags his fork back from Cas and eats his pie in a hurry. He doesn't look up, but he can just imagine Sam's smug expression and it's enough.

 "So, uh... the full moon's not for another day. I'll go get us set up at the motel across the street while you get the bill. See ya' in a few."

 "Sure, Sammy."

 They settle the bill, and Dean can feel Cas's hand hovering in the empty space between them, near his own as they walk across the street. Dean's not sure how to feel, and there isn't time to figure it out because he's already meeting Sam outside the small office near the parking lot.

 "Here," Sam hands him a key. "You and Cas are over there," Dean's eyes distantly track Sam's finger as he points to a corner suite on the opposite side of the u-shaped building.  
"I'll be three doors down if you need anything." They start walking across the lot.

 Dean looks up, meets Sam's eyes, but fails to hold his gaze. "What? Why are you taking a separate room? It's dangerous to split up, man."

 A small smile tugs at one corner of Sam's mouth, "I guess you could say it's been awhile, I need some alone time."

 Cas pipes in, "I believe Sam wishes carnal relations to transpire."

 _Oh gawd. What the hell do those two talk about when I'm not around?_ Dean rubs at the back of his neck and grins in false cheer. He tugs Sam close and thumps him on the back. "Atta' boy, Sammy! Go get 'em tiger. Just make sure they're still alive by the time we leave town, huh?" Dean smirks up at his brother, gives him a noogie.

 "Jerk!" Sam slips away from Dean easily.

 "Bitch," Dean grins back, dig made and face saved.

 "Winchesters," Cas smiles, looking bemused.

 "Heh, yeah." Dean grins and Sam claps Cas on the shoulder before he heads off to his own room.

 Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Dean nearly fumbles the key onto the ground. His hands shake a little as he tries to pretend this is just another day. He gets the door open and steps inside, toeing off his boots as Cas follows behind him. Cas flicks on the lights, and it's just another drab motel room full of pine furniture, grey shag carpet and peeling beige wallpaper in Vermont, but Dean knows he will never forget it.

 "Hey, Cas... you can have first crack at the shower. I'm gonna' grab twenty, ok?" _And try to calm the fuck down._ He hears rustling as Castiel removes his clothes and folds them. Doesn't look as his mind's eye paints the picture, Cas bending down to pick up his clothes, stretching forward to put them on the dresser — Cas's long fingers gripping the dresser as Dean— His pulse skyrockets, heart hammering in his chest as he lies down on the lumpy bed, curling away from Cas and around his erection.

 _Maybe, maybe..._ he could just touch himself a little while Cas is busy... _just a bit to take the edge off_ — he hears the bathroom door close and the spray of water shortly thereafter. _Cas is in there naked. Maybe, he's waiting for me to join him... Oh God, I can't do this. It's freaking **Cas**_. The thought terrifies and elates him, pulse thrumming as all his hair stands on end. He slides his thumb up and down his dick through all his layers, just a bare brush of the pad. It's simultaneously better and worse. He presses down and is acutely aware of how his balls are stuck to his leg, how the seam of his jeans digs uncomfortably into the head of his dick. He goes into a daze, slowly applying more pressure, more of his hand, until he's palming his dick. His thumb rubs at the head while his palm curves around his shaft through his pants. He hears the water shut off and wants to stop, but he can't.

 Cas pads out into the room. The only sound comes from droplets of water dripping from his hair and hitting the carpet for a couple beats. When Castiel breaks the silence, his voice is even lower and rougher than usual. "Dean, look at me."

 Dean stills his hand and can't help but obey, rolling partway onto his back. He does a double-take; Cas is clad only in a thin, small towel that barely covers his hips, leaving long expanses of tanned skin on display, cock tenting the towel (almost, but not quite visible). "I want this. I want _you_." Dean's breath hitches in his chest, and Cas stalks forward, bending low, pushing his chest down with a hand.  
  "Show me what you're hiding from me, Dean. **Now**." He takes Dean's hand in his own, those long elegant fingers pulling Dean's hand away from his crotch. Dean's palms get sweaty and he trembles. His ears and the back of his neck burns as he lets Cas reveal the undeniable evidence of his arousal. His stare is a physical weight that constricts Dean's chest. The angel's eyes rake from his crotch and lock onto his eyes.

 "C-Cas..." he swallows, unable to tear his gaze away as the angel stares into his soul.

 "Very good. But not good enough." He lets go of Dean's hand and skims down Dean's sides to his hips. His beautiful hands wrap around the curve of Dean's hip bones and push them flat to the bed. Dean's face is on fire as Castiel looks at him, and he stares a hole into the side of Cas's bare throat. "Do not be ashamed nor afraid, Dean. You also have this effect on me." Cas takes Dean's hand back in his own, and suddenly there's only threadbare towel between his shaking hand and Cas's hard-on.

 Dean whispers,"Cas.... what are you doing?" he's so hot beneath his hand, even through the towel.

 "I am ending my vigil. I wish to make love to you, Dean." Castiel cups his face and forces Dean to meet his gaze, "Please, let me. Let us enjoy what comfort we can give each-other."

 "Cas... I've never... _I don't_...." Dean trembles, pulse racing, and gnaws on his lip. He's awed in the old fashioned sense of the word: so hard he's not sure what's going to explode first; his dick or his heart.

 "Shh, it's alright. So long as we have each-other, the world can **burn**." Dean's eyes go huge, as the angel's intense stare bores into him. "This world can burn to cinders, to ash— I love you, and there is _nothing_ that can change that." Castiel surges forward, mouth covering his own, and Dean kisses back frantically, desperately, hands scrabbling at damp chest up to Cas's shoulders, into his still-wet hair. He licks and makes small noises into his friend's mouth as the angel's tongue and lips slide against his own; his tongue is questing, invasive in his haste to learn every part of Dean. Dean answers by sucking and nibbling greedily in lurid promise of what is to come.

 Cas's hands fumble at his fly, and they don't break the kiss once while stripping Dean except to get his shirt and jacket over his head. The towel falls off as Cas shifts over his hips, pressing his arms up over his head by the wrists and kissing him senseless. "Oh Christ, _Cas_."

 The angel is relentless, and his hand slides down to grab Dean's dick and press it against his own. Cas bears his hips down, and soon they are sliding together, Cas's damp skin partially smoothing the way as their sexes mirror the play of their tongues. Castiel's knuckles dig in under Dean's belly button as their erections slide in his grip. Dean arches, moaning quietly, cock throbbing with an orgasm close. "Cas— Cas I'm gonna'—"

 Cas nibbles at his bottom lip, speaks low and dirty, voice dripping with sex. "Feel good for me, Dean. Come for me." Dean shakes all over and obeys, falling apart as Cas kisses his open panting mouth over and over. His skin thrums and spurt after spurt floods the join between Cas's hip and thigh where Dean is slotted and runs over his fist.

 Cas's hand jerks more rapidly, sliding in Dean's come as he fists their dicks together hard. Dean watches, enthralled, trembling in aftershocks of his release as the angel's eyes slide shut and his face contorts in his own orgasm as he gasps.

 "Jesus, Cas. You're so beautiful, baby. All this time, how did I lie about not seeing it?" Cas's grip has slackened, and he pants softly as Dean cups his cheek and stares up into his friend's face with something akin to awe. Cas's eyes open, dazed and unfocused, and he blinks for a moment before smiling at his lover.

 "You always deny yourself that which you want the most, Dean." He bends his head down and kisses Dean slowly, soft and unhurried — unlike all the kisses they'd just shared. After they break apart, Dean grabs the towel and cleans them off, before settling Castiel close. He hums the Stone's "Gimme' Shelter," as he drifts off wrapped up in his angel, feeling the quiet thrum of his grace under the skin now that his nerves have settled enough to listen. He feels truly relaxed for the first time in years. He'll keep the rhythm of Team Free Will; so long as he can, he'll keep Cas and Sam beside him. Whether it's riding in the Impala, working jobs, or killing some nasties, no matter what else the Darkness swallows whole, there'll always be music.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to feed the hungry authour! My needy ass is really pushed by your feedback to write more often!


End file.
